


Shelter

by Sneery69



Series: Shelter [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, mentions of depression, minor feet kink, not so minor breath play kink, slight dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneery69/pseuds/Sneery69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas would beg if he thought it would get him anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> It's basically porn. There's going to be a sequel that might have a hint of plot in it. Set some time after Cas has fallen, but doesn't go along with the actual plot of Cas leaving. Instead, Cas became a hunter like the brothers.

He wanders through the dark streets of New Orleans aimlessly, a bit drunk. The street lights are a disturbing kind of yellow and make him ill. The cars driving past cause too much noise for his mood and the air feels heavy with humidity and dirt.

Whatever possessed them to heed this far south anyway? It's not a city to hunt in. It's a city to lose yourself to.

He wants to turn back, but that would mean seeing Dean getting hit on by another beautiful woman, and Cas has no patience left for it, can't sit next to him for another two hours pretending to be comfortable when really the alcohol is all holding him there, all holding him back from shouting, or crying, or doing something irrevocably stupid.

He knows that he has been maudlin lately. He didn't accept his fall gracefully. Ha. Some of his former fellow angels did, though. Some had families by now. He knows. He checked.

He wonders if Dean cares. Sam cares, of course, because Sam always cares and Sam is broken, but not as broken as Dean.

Back then, he would have known. One look would have been enough to make sure that Dean was worried about him, or angry, or indifferent.

These days, all Cas can really be sure of is that Dean fucks around more than ever. He doesn't fully understand the urge behind it, because he has observed the proceedings very carefully and Dean usually gets this strange look in his eyes before deciding for a partner. Like he can't really be bothered but will go along with it because that's the thing Dean Winchester does.

Cas has given it a try himself.

He doesn't like the same type of woman Dean does, apparently, because when he went with Karen this one time, Dean had looked at them both with disdain.

Karen has been around mid-thirty with short, brown hair and nice dark eyes. He remembers her fondly now, even if they did not achieve real satisfaction with each other. She told him about her husband, after. How he died and how much she missed him.

He told her about Dean.

It starts to rain and Cas decides to finally turn around. He doesn't need to go back to the bar. He'll heed straight past and to the hotel. He has no key though, and Sam is probably either still in some library or sleeping already.

With a sigh that sounds pathetic even to him he resigns himself to the picture of Dean with his tongue down some slim pale throat before he asks for the key like … Cas can't even think of a suitable simile. Like something low and crawling. Begging.

Cas would beg if he thought it would get him anywhere. There is no pride left in him after all. There is nothing left to be proud of.

Just before he enters the pub with its unbreathable air and too-loud music, he realizes that he probably is not drunk enough to be this depressed.

 

Cas spots Dean where he left him – right in front of the bar. The blonde that originally sat next to him has migrated into his lap and is saying something. Dean does not seem to be listening, though, eyes lost in his shot of whiskey. He treats her like something he's entitled to, treats them all like he would treat obnoxious children, and Cas is angry again. It's better than being sad, at least.

He shoulders his way roughly up to them and pokes Dean’s back none too gently. Dean positively jumps and Cas realizes belatedly that startling a man the likes of a Winchester maybe isn't the best idea. Thankfully, Dean does not try to pull his gun, though Cas notices his right hand twitching towards the knife he hides in the inside pockets of his jacket. He bets the woman on his lap doesn't know that.

“Cas? Where were you, man?” Dean's voice sounds rough from whiskey and smoke. Cas refrains from closing his eyes in despair.

“I need the key, Dean.”

Dean looks at him strangely, then tells the blonde on his lap to move. She does so without protest, takes her drink and walks over to another woman who looks like her sister. They roll their eyes at each other, and Cas can't help but agree.

“I'll come, just gimme a minute.” Dean downs his whiskey in one go, then makes his way through the crowded room to the toilets. Cas gingerly sits down on one of the stools, staring at Dean's glass.

“How much did he have?” he asks the bartender on a whim. The man currently wiping one of the shelves is young, probably in his early twenties, and grins at him good-naturedly. 

“Not too many after you left. Three, I think.”

Cas nods at him, smiles a bit himself because he is still surprised sometimes by how friendly some strangers can be.

The guy's eyes start to travel up and down Cas' frame, or what he can see of it considering he's still behind the bar. “So, my shift ends at three. Care to join me for a coffee later?” He winks, blue eyes twinkling.

It's not the first time Cas is being hit on, but it takes him by surprise nevertheless. He does not drop his smile, though, because this guy is really nice, and maybe he would like to try...

A heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder. “We are going. Now.”

Dean's words sound harsh, unfriendly even, and Cas sends the bartender an apologetic look. “Maybe another time?” he can't help saying, because he hates when Dean does this – acting all jealous. He's a damn hypocrite, is what he is, and Cas just about has had enough of it.

The guy beams at him, shouts: “Name's Jeff!” and waves, then turns back to his shelves. Dean drags him out into the rain.

He says nothing once they're outside, and Cas is grateful. He doesn't think he could have taken a “What the hell was that?” or a “So you gay now?” today. Sometimes Dean pretends, and then sometimes, usually when he's drunk, he doesn't bother to.

The rain, as if it has waited just for them, starts to pour down in earnest. They run to the next bus station that thankfully has a plastic roof on top of it, barely big enough for the two of them to squeeze under. Sometimes Cas wonders if God tries to tell them something.

He also wonders what would happen if he kissed Dean, one of these nights. Or now. Dean shifts uncomfortably under his stare, but Cas doesn't feel forgiving.

“Why do you care?” he finally asks without really meaning to, but at least it isn't “I love you” or “You are destroying me” or something equally emotional, because Dean would surely have bolted then, rain be damned.

Dean folds his arms in front of his chest and frowns at the nearest street light. Cas can almost feel the words form in his mouth but miraculously, he swallows them back down and just grunts.

Cas feels like this deserves a somewhat dramatic reaction. He can't decide for an appropriate one.

The next thing coming out of his mouth is: “How drunk are you?”

Dean probably considers this a halfway safe topic, for he’s actually using words. “Not a lot drunker than you.”

There's a couple hiding in the bus station on the other side of the street. They are kissing and embracing each other with slow, unhurried movements and most likely consider the atmosphere romantic.

Dean follows his gaze and hurriedly looks away again. He swallows audibly, then pinches the bridge of his nose.

Cas can't help sighing.

“Dean. I...”

He isn't sure if he is grateful or not when the bus choses that exact moment to drench them both in mud and rainwater. They go home through the rain without another word, Dean looking pale and worn under the yellow lights of New Orleans.

_________________

 

They have booked only one room as per usual, with an additional bed crammed in the far corner of the small living area, right beneath the window. They try to enter silently, but they are both not quite sober and therefore fail miserably. Cas feels sorry for Sam, who, now halfway standing, had obviously fallen asleep on the couch, hair ruffled and bags almost black under his eyes. He blinks at them, and Cas thinks they must look ridiculous.

“Sorry, man. Go back to sleep”, Dean says, already shedding clothes on his way to the bathroom, and Sam just nods and flops down on his bed.

Cas still doesn’t really feel inclined to play nice, pissed off and tired as he is, so he slips in behind Dean and starts undressing, too. Dean throws him a wild look through the mirror and manages to express a “What the hell are you doing?” through a noise alone.

Cas knows he is grinning like a madman. It’s not hard to tell, he can see himself behind Dean in the mirror after all.  
“I’m getting naked. I’m very uncomfortable.”

Dean turns around and steps under the shower with his boxers still on. “Well yeah, but you’re making me uncomfortable, so…”

Cas throws his underwear on the ground and Dean stops talking. The sad sound the wet cloth makes against the flagstones is almost comical, or so Cas thinks. Dean on the other hand is staring at him with a mixture of surprise and horror, shower head hanging limply from his right hand.

“I’m sure I can make you even more uncomfortable.” With that said, Cas steps into the tiny cabin, body pressed close to Dean’s back.

That’s the moment when Cas wonders what the fuck he is doing. Sure, this thing with Dean has gotten unnecessarily complicated and eats away at his nerves. But he knows him, knows that the chances of Dean freaking out and then denying the whole thing forever are high. He might just be destroying their friendship.  
He starts to wriggle out of the shower again, his hard dick inevitably brushing Dean’s ass in the process, but a tiny noise from Dean stops him in his movements.

Dean says nothing and holds himself as still as possible. He probably hopes that Cas hasn’t heard him.

Cas smiles the smile of the winning and turns on the water. Dean jumps and puts the shower head back above them, his right shoulder pressing into Castiel’s chest with the movement. He freezes again.

Cas treads carefully, not stepping back but not leaning in either. Instead, he hands Dean the shower gel.

Dean huffs and takes the bottle from him, squeezing at least half its content onto his hand and starting to rub the gel into his skin. Castiel watches greedily over his shoulder.

He is definitely still drunk, or he would probably not have dared gathering some of the soapy stuff from Dean’s chest to rub it on his back. For a moment, Dean goes still again, but then, miraculously, he leans the tiniest bit forward, giving Cas more room to move.

It’s really all the encouragement anyone could possibly need.

Cas takes his time, enjoying the warmth of the water and the smoothness of Dean’s skin. He rubs a hard knot of muscle close to Dean’s neck and is rewarded with a faint moan that he feels right down to his toes. Cas wants to know if Dean is as aroused as he is but keeps himself from checking for now, instead tracing Dean’s spine with his thumbs until he can feel the fabric of his boxers against his fingertips. He strokes over the cloth tentatively, then more firmly when Dean presses his ass against his hands cautiously.

“You like this”, he says into Dean’s ear, his voice pitched low and intimate. Dean tilts his head with another soft moan, baring his neck.

Something dark unravels in Castiel, wild and greedy. He presses against Dean forcefully; erection firmly lined against his cleft, and bites down on the juncture between neck and shoulder, no longer thinking clearly.

Dean groans loudly, arching his back and grinding his ass against Cas’ dick in the process. The water hits him square on the face but Dean doesn’t seem to care, his eyes closed, lips parted. Cas wants.

He slides his left hand up Dean’s torso, over his abs and chest to his throat. Dean goes very still. Cas can feel him swallow against his skin. “Cas, I…”

But Cas knows. He squeezes only slightly, only enough for Dean to tip his head back against Cas’ shoulder, and then angles Dean’s head towards him.

Cas doesn’t kiss Dean fully, even though he wants to. But it would mean relinquishing his hold on Dean’s throat, so he only licks at his parted lips, tasting for the very first time the mixture of whiskey and rain and blood that is Dean Winchester.

They remain like this for a while, Castiel tasting and Dean taking it, not moving at all, only breathing harshly through the light pressure on his windpipe.  
Finally, Dean croaks something against his tongue and Cas notices belatedly that it is his name. He leans back a little, enough to check Dean’s face for second thoughts, but all he can see in them is hunger.

His eyes are even more distracting like this, dark and heavy with want. He decides on a course of action right in this moment.  
Cas turns off the water and steps out of the shower in one swift motion. Before Dean can do much except grunt in surprise, Cas has thrown all the available towels on the bath rug, including two white bathrobes and a facecloth.

Dean blinks at him. Cas gives him one last out, lifting his brows in a silent question.

Dean doesn’t go, so Cas drags him out of the shower and pushes him down on the towels. Dean drops to his knees and Cas feels suddenly, impossibly aroused from the picture he makes, the readiness with which he does what Cas wants.

He sits down on his knees behind Dean, grabbing one of the soft bathrobe belts. Cas knows that there are rules to the game. He might be very close to being a virgin, but he’s also a thousand years old, and therefore not stupid.

“Put your hands behind your back”, he tells Dean softly, mindful of Sam in the next room. Dean obliges only with the slightest hesitation.

“Do you trust me enough to tie you up, Dean?”

Dean draws in a sharp breath, flushing from his cheekbones down to his chest.

“I…Yes.”

Count on Dean Winchester to not say something cheesy even if a moment really calls for it. Cas smiles, because he loves this stupid human.

Once Dean’s wrists are firmly secured behind his back, Cas stands up and walks around him. He might never get the chance to do this again, so he wants to remember everything in as much detail as possible.

Dean flushes further under his gaze, but doesn’t break eye contact. Castiel is beyond pleased by the lack of shame on his face. He takes it for what it is: an admission. Dean may prefer to pretend he doesn’t crave this, might even want this to look like he’s being used, but they both know that that’s not the truth. At all.

Cas wants Dean's boxers gone without him having to stand up. His grace would have come in handy now, but first aid scissors will have to do.

Cas hurries to the only cupboard in the room and finds what he needs in no time. It's not like they carry a lot of bathroom utensils around.

Dean inhales sharply at the first touch of cold metal against his hip, but wisely doesn't move. Cas smiles again. He feels a lot drunker than he can possibly be.

Without any reservation, Cas throws the pieces of Dean’s underwear away and takes a good, long look at his cock. It was big in a flaccid state when Cas put Dean’s body together after hell. It’s huge now, hard and swollen, and Cas suddenly understands how genitalia can be arousing to humans in itself, understands pornography and erotic art like he never did before.

He falls to his knees behind Dean again, wanting to touch everything, wanting to make Dean feel everything.

He had been an angel once. He knows all of Dean’s hidden desires, knows of every nerve ending in his body, and yet he feels nervous about this, nervous that Dean would find it to be too much, too intimate. But maybe this is his only chance.

Castiel pushes against Dean’s shoulder blades, and after a short intake of breath, Dean cautiously drops forward. His bound hands make it difficult not to land on his face, but Cas holds onto his hips and controls his fall.

Dean breathes very hard, ass up in the air and face pushed into the towels, and Castiel just needs to check again. “Alright?”

“Yes. Yes, just…no talking? Please, Cas…”

It does things to Cas, seeing and hearing Dean like this, but it’s not stronger than the intense desire to reduce Dean to a needy mess. He will deal with his own arousal after he takes care of Dean.

A not-so-small part of him wants Dean to compare every single one-night-stand he ever had with this here, finding them all lacking. He wants Dean to never touch anyone else again, wants him to come to him instead. He wants Dean to be his.

With trembling hands, Cas slowly strokes down Dean’s back, marveling over the pattern of scars, the smooth skin in between. Dean’s breathing has calmed down, and Cas decides that that won’t do.

He boldly cups Dean’s ass cheeks and squeezes, then pulls them apart slowly. Dean’s breath hitches and he pushes his backside further up. Cas can see Dean’s hands flexing, straining against the lower part of his back. He brushes over them briefly, lovingly, before continuing to message his cheeks.

He starts out slowly, pressing his fingers into the skin only slightly, but soon it isn’t enough. He uses more pressure, digging his palms deeper, drawing the muscles apart and exposing Dean’s hole with every circle.  
Dean moans when Cas’ thumb comes very close to his entrance accidentally, and he bites down on the towel under him. Cas notes how Dean’s balls hang heavy between his legs, and feels the same urgency between his own.

Cas hopes Sam sleeps deeply, he really does. He smacks Dean’s right ass cheek, hard. Dean’s reaction is instantaneous; a deep keening noise that sends hot sparks through Cas.

He would like to continue, knows that the thought alone has driven Dean almost crazy on more than one occasion, but he can’t risk waking Sam any more than he already has. But he has shown Dean that he knows, and that has to be enough for now.

He pushes Dean’s hips to the floor and lies down himself, face close to Dean’s ass. “Hold them apart”, he instructs, and Dean complies with trembling hands that are bound just tight enough to make it a challenge. But he manages, and Cas rewards him with another, softer, smack.

Cas wants to burn this moment into his brain, the way Dean’s fingers clutch at his own flesh, how he is panting and moaning without having been touched yet. He knows he’ll never forget this.

He regards the hole before him, puckered but clenching now and then. He wants to taste, wants to feel, wants to breach. So he does, poking his tongue out and running it over Dean’s entrance tentatively. Dean’s whole body starts shaking, and Cas wants more, more, more.

He laps and pokes until the tight muscle gives enough for his tongue to dart in a little, and Dean goes absolutely crazy, barely managing to stay silent by burying his whole face in the towels. He twists and pushes against Castiel’s tongue hard, his hands slipping on his own sweaty skin.

Cas comes up and utters soothing sounds against Dean’s spine, kissing the skin there lightly and stroking his sides with what he hopes is a calming manner.

He wants to be in Dean now, but he has one more thing to explore at first. He puts his mouth back between Dean’s cheeks, rubbing his stubble over the red skin there on his way. His hands stroke over the abused flesh, then down each leg slowly while he starts lapping at Dean’s hole again.

The closer his hands get to Dean’s feet, the harder he seems to shake. Cas can even feel the vibrations on his tongue, and the thought that he is doing this to Dean Winchester excites him in ways he cannot even describe.

When Cas finally presses his knuckles into Dean’s left sole and simultaneously thrusts his tongue into his hole, Dean screams, his whole body convulsing. The noise is muffled by the towels, but there’s no way Sam hasn’t heard it if he hasn’t been deep under by now.

Nevertheless, Cas only stops for a few seconds with his ministrations. He is unable to hear anything from behind the door. Dean is breathing heavily, probably past caring by now.

Cas grinds both his hands deeply in either of Dean’s feet and thrusts his tongue in again, able to rotate it now, feeling the texture and tightness of Dean’s insides. He moves one hand up, ignoring Dean’s tortured groan, and puts one finger against his hole. It goes in next to his tongue without any problems. Dean squirms back on it, demanding more.

“Yes, please, Cas, I need…”  
Cas hums, then retrieves his mouth so he can speak.

“What exactly do you need, Dean?”

“You. Please. I need you to… In me. I need you in me.”

Cas strokes over Dean’s cheeks again, pinching and prodding just because he likes the feeling, the resistance of the muscle. He moves Dean’s hands up, noticing how the fabric has chaffed the skin around his wrists a bit and not sure how he feels about it.

“You need me to fuck you, don’t you?” He can’t help saying, because he wants to hear it. Badly. Years of staying silent may have taken their toll on him, after all.

Dean breathes deeply, but makes himself say it, maybe even understanding the sentiment behind it.

“Yes. I need you to fuck me. Please.”

Castiel barely takes the time to wet two of his fingers with saliva before he pushes them into Dean, not going slowly like before. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, spreading his legs further so that Cas has better access.

Cas spits into his other hand, wetting his own cock as well as possible, and then positions himself between Dean’s legs. He pushes in slowly but doesn’t stop once before he’s fully sheathed. Dean holds stock still and Cas isn’t sure if he’s in pain or not. He moves back slightly and tucks on Dean’s bound hands until he has him up and against him.

Dean moans breathily at the change of angle, spreading his legs even wider to accommodate to the new position.

“Alright?”

Dean moves his head back against Cas’ right shoulder as an answer, reminding Cas of their earlier position. Slowly, so as not to upset their balance, Cas brings his left hand back to Dean’s throat while his other one clutches at the flesh of Dean’s hip.

The reaction Cas gets is as satisfying as before, Dean’s breath hitching and a badly muffled groan escaping his lips.

Cas doesn’t give Dean time to come back from his high, instead starting to move slowly, pumping his hips cautiously at first, then harder when Dean doesn’t protest, pulling him further onto his cock with every thrust.

It feels incredible. Dean is tight around his cock, beautiful in his movements and soft exclamations of ecstasy. 

Cas wants to see him come like this, on his cock with his hand around Dean’s throat. He tightens the hold of both of his hands and angles for deep, hard thrusts. He can feel Dean panting against his hand, feels how it gets harder for him to draw enough air.

He knows he’s hitting Dean’s prostate when his body goes rigid suddenly, and if Dean had enough breath, he’d surely have screamed again. Like this, just a keening sound comes out, and it makes Cas go a bit mad with desire himself, how much Dean enjoys this.  
He knows it’s just a matter of seconds now. He tries to hit the right spot with every move before he cuts Dean’s air off completely, at the same time burying his cock as deeply in Dean as possible.

It’s beautiful. Dean jerks back against him so violently that Cas almost loses his balance and then comes with full body shudders for what seems like forever. Cas releases Dean’s throat in the middle of his orgasm and fucks into him hard and fast, starting to come almost immediately. Dean clenches and unclenches wildly around him, drawing sensations out of Castiel that shouldn’t be possible.

Then, just as Cas’ hold goes slack from post-orgasmic bliss, Dean blacks out.


End file.
